Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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I pay my taxes, obey the law, serve on jury duty. I served three years in the
Army and came close to being sent to Vietnam. I vote in every election, and try to
be an informed voter. In 1958 and 1959, while still a teenager, I was part of the
Washington Youth Marches for Integrated Schools (and was greatly moved by the
eloquence of Bayard Rustin). In Ithaca College I founded its anti-discrimination club
during my freshman year and got to shake Martin Luther King, Jr.s hand when he
came to Ithaca (and which I remember as being particularly soft). I volunteered for
the Peace Corps in 1964, though I realized after the first week of training that I was
not cut out for community development in the jungles of Borneo! Ive gone on
peace marches, pro-womens rights marches, and sat with Regina on the beach for
a day in the rain protesting the construction of the Shoreham nuclear plant. If,
indeed, these are expressions of civic duty, did they arise from love of country? I
think not. In fact, I find the notion of love of country perplexing.
Without question, I would prefer to live in the United States over anywhere
else I have been. It is home. It is familiar. It is rich and comfortable, and relatively
free and secure. I am moved by its landscape, attracted to its cities, drawn to its
culture, and feel great respect and awe at its ideals. I am proud of having been born
in Brooklyn and of being a New Yorker. When I am out of the country, I am glad to
return. Does this constitute love of country?
I am also ashamed of this country, of its imperialist history, its lack of
morality, its disregard of human beings in its pursuit of wealth, its hypocrisy. I relate
to our flag with ambivalence, as I know that for much of the world and for large
segments of this country it symbolizes selfishness and corruption. I read in the
Shulhan Aruh1 that, If one dwells in a community the leaders of which are wicked,
and its inhabitants do not walk in the right path, he should move away from there
to dwell in a place where its inhabitants are righteous men and conduct themselves
properly. Would that I knew of such a place! Perhaps, at best, I feel toward this
country a love/hate relationship. So why, then, do I perform any civic duties?
I think my sense of obligation, to the degree that it is a result of conscious
choice and not simply unexamined superego injunctions, arises not from the State,
or from a love of the State, but from an understanding of the social value of such
actions. I vote, not because of a duty imposed upon me by the State, but because I
recognize the intrinsic value of a democratic form of government, and because I
care about the people with whom I live
my fellow Americans if you will, and about the lives of the millions throughout the
world who are affected by this countrys actions.
I think that civic duty is but one of many sub-categories of duty which arise
from a sensibility of things far greater than State or City. We do, indeed, have
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duties, but these flow from our responsibilities to our self and to others. Civic duty
is a subcategory of overriding mitzvot, a subcategory of our duty of tikkun olam.
Do not separate yourself from the community. (Pirke Avot 2:4)
You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. (Leviticus 19:6)
Proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof.
(Leviticus 25:10)
I, the Eternal, act with kindness, justice and equity in the world, for in these I
delight - declares the Eternal. (Jeremiah 9:23)
Love your neighbor as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)
If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what
am I? And if not now, when? (Pirke Avot 1:14)
These exalted expressions of our obligation, of our duty, to heal the wounds
of our world arise not from a parochial love of place, or narrow secular
prescriptions, but from our highest aspirations to be in harmony with the living G-d.
They perhaps arise from an unnameable inner place which makes possible
superego development, which innately recognizes an obligation to all other living
creatures.
But, If I am not for myself, who will be for me? That is the part of the
equation that I struggle with. I have such admiration of persons who devote their
entire lives to social justice - Gandhi, Martin Luther King spring immediately to mind
because of my sympathy with their methods and philosophy. How do I reconcile my
vastly more limited efforts with those of such giants? When I see the horrors of our
modern world - which may, in fact, be no less horrible than those of the ancient
world - how can I justify even a moments inaction, a moment of purely self-serving
activity, when I could - or should - or ought - to be relieving the misery of others.
I think it was the day after nine-eleven that I got a call from my hospitals
deputy director (his secretary, actually) asking if, as a psychologist, I would
volunteer to be a crisis intervention worker and go downtown to help those
suffering from the disaster. I had to decide on the spot, and after only a moments
thought, I told her no. My instant response was that I simply could not do what was
being asked of me. Not only was I already personally traumatized by the events of
the day before, but I felt deeply that I did not have the skills to be of help. However
correct this decision was, and I think I chose rightly, I have deeply berated myself
for it ever since. I wimped out. I lacked even a small bit of the courage so
abundantly displayed by others during that fateful time.
Was it my civic duty to have said, Yes? Or was it my greater duty to protect
my psyche from further assault? Is it my civic duty to oppose the draft? If I now
choose not to participate in a protest march, or go downtown to listen to a lecture
on the evils of society, should I feel guilty? And, if so, how guilty? For us Jews, how
much guilt is enough? (Already!)
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Perhaps, before I die, I will have an adequate answer to these questions. But,
I doubt it. I wonder if Gandhi and Martin Luther King felt guilty that they did not do
more? My guess is that they did. I suspect that no one here today - particularly,
today - feels that they have done enough. If, as I believe, our purpose in life is to
serve as G_ds hands in this world, how do we deal with our reach being greater
than our grasp? We have all missed opportunities, or our efforts have gone awry, or
we have responded to other legitimate priorities instead. If I am not for myself,
who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?
And if not now, when? And what?
I once dated a woman who was an ardent supporter of the United Jewish
Appeal. It was her view that the work of the UJA was so important that it was okay
to use any type of persuasion to get people to contribute. (I did not marry her.) We
cannot stand idly by the blood of our neighbors, but we must recognize that the
performance of civic duty can be destructive as well as constructive.
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find ever greater courage, ever deeper understanding of our own needs and the
needs of others, ever greater strength, ever greater capacity, and ever more
awareness of our opportunities to do our civic duty.
Amen.
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1
Code of Jewish Law (Kitzur Shulhan Aruh) - A Compilation of Jewish Laws and
Customs. Rabbi Solomon Ganzfried, translated by Hyman E. Goldin, LLB. Annotated
Revised Edition, Hebrew Publishing Company, New York, 1961. Vol. 1, p. 94.
2
Roger S. Gradess
2004,
at the invitation of Rabbi Margaret Moers Wenig to
respond to questions she raised with the
congregation of